Cruz
by July1996
Summary: GOF. The Triwizard Tournament is something different this time around. Not only Harry Potter's name comes out of the Goblet of Fire, but a name nobody expected which causes surprise, alarm and even fear to spread all over Hogwarts. Is Hermione really capable of seeing through such a name?


_GOF. The Triwizard Tournament is something different this time around. Not only Harry Potter's name comes out of the Goblet of Fire, but a name nobody expected that causes surprise, alarm and even fear to spread all over Hogwarts. Is Hermione really capable of seeing through such a name?_

___**Should tell you if you're reading, that this story is Hermione/OC!**_

* * *

_**Cruz**_

Prologue.

_October 31, 1994_

"And the Durmstrang champion is..."

After taking a look at the piece of parchment between his long, old fingers, Dumbledore couldn't make himself say the name written on it, the neat script perfectly readable at the dim Great Hall due to the bright blue flames of the Goble of Fire. Too astonished, Albus spun around, searching for that face he had believed familiar when the two host schools had been introduced to the Hogwarts' students the day before. He had seen that face a few times through the corridors of the castle at sunlight; during the feast to welcome the new arrivals, the headmaster had even speculated with Severus his uncertainties about the dark-haired young man, the potions professor reassuring his doubts.

Albus, just like Severus, knew that boy. And now the parchment trapped on his hand clarified everything.

Right before he located who he was looking for, sitting by a bunch of Durmstrang students ―his features standing out among the Bulgarians―, Albus shared a look with Snape, and finally his eyes fell upon the bright, icy blue ones he had desperately wanted to find. After watching the young man for a second, he understood, he perfectly saw the resemblance this time. The boy stared back at him, like everyone else in the Great Hall, but something in his eyes was different; perhaps a glint of understanding, yet beyond that. It hit Dumbledore like a ton of bricks ―_anticipation_.

The staring mach lasted just a couple of seconds, while Albus' mind raced and his thoughts collapsed with each other, as he tried to find a reasonable explanation. (Little did he know that the same thing would happen to him just minutes after, when the name of a certain raven haired boy with a lightening shaped scar on his forehead would come out of the Goblet.) Had the young man anticipated his reaction or something else, something like his name being selected by the Goblet?

Albus would find out, he was certain.

As Dumbledore pondered about it all, the name slipped off his tongue without his permission, unleashing a sea of murmurs and transforming faces of expectation into astonishment and even alarm.

"_Marco… Marco Riddle!_"

Utter silence; students and professors of both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons had actually stopped breathing for a millisecond and stared all together at the old headmaster, expecting a reaction from him, whose eyes were lost in the piece of burned parchment resting in his hand. Seeing Dumbledore was still too astonished to do anything, everyone turned to the Durmstrang section of the Hall, searching for the same exact person, though no one really knew who they were looking for. All at once, then, as a prove it was not a cruel joke or some kind of bad misunderstanding, a grinning young man stood, laughing as the Durmstrang delegation broke into cheers, including Karkaroff, who was all too happy to have one of his three best students play as the champion of his school, while Marco received the congratulations of his companions in the form of strong hands slapping his back and ruffling his short hair, most voices singing along the lines of _'Riddle, Riddle!'_.

But as he rose, he met the astonished and paralyzed faces of all the rest of the occupants of the Great Hall ―just what he had expected to happen. He only grinned as he was shoved away from his place by Niko and Viktor, who were chanting his name like the rest of his friends, all too happy to know it was him who had been selected, as he carried more chances to win than anyone else in their school. Still grinning and glancing back at his cheering friends, Marco slowly walked to where Dumbledore stood, well aware that everyone was watching his every move as if he were a ghost, a terrifying ghost. There were others that Marco couldn't really tell what they were thinking. Harry Potter was one of them; while his friends were looking at him with wide eyes and mouths agape, he stared at him with astonishment and confusion in his features, but a glint of anger in his bright green eyes ―something Marco had expected too― and right beneath the anger, there was a hint of understanding ―something Marco had not expected at all.

After he saw Karkaroff slightly nodding towards the door behind the staff table, where the other two champions had walked into, he stopped in front of Albus Dumbledore, who stared him right in the eye as he let the piece of parchment slip from his fingers into Marco's palm.

"Louder!" he heard Niko shout over the cheers which increased noticeably, and Marco's grin only grew wider as he kept his eyes on Dumbledore just a little bit longer, almost taunting.

He walked pass Albus then, the parchment with his own handwriting on it still tightly secure between his fingers, meeting with Karkaroff at the wooden door behind the professors, while all of them stared at him with the same dumbfounded expressions. Severus Snape, one of the few people who were aware of the story beneath his haunted name, watched him not with fear but hidden concern; for those who knew about his existence, he was suppose to be dead, after all, so his presence was disconcerting and worrying.

Marco paid no mind to those looks, though, and made his way inside the room where Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour awaited for the final champion, followed by Karkaroff, who captured his shoulders tightly enough in case someone ―Dumbledore to be precise― tried to snatch his champion away from him.

When the door closed and Marco disappeared from everyone's sight, the Great Hall was plunged in the bustle, Durmstrang delegation still chanting their champion's name plus the rest of the other schools students exploding in noise, some asking what was happening and others trying to reassure their friends that the old headmaster would know what to do about it all. Some others rose from their places and turned to the Durmstrang students, asking them very loudly how could they accept someone like a _Riddle_, surely ―though they still didn't know, they could tell― was related to the dark wizard who had once hunted their country. The few Durmstrangs who didn't have a hard time understanding the English language, stood as well and supported their blue-eyed friend.

Dumbledore did nothing to stop this harsh exchange between schools; he turned and rushed towards the room where Marco Riddle had just got inside of, followed by Barty Crouch, Severus, Minerva, Maxime and lastly Alastor, who tried to keep up with his wooden leg. Marco stood with Karkaroff a few feet away from Cedric and Fleur ―both not entirely certain about what was going on― when he saw all professors coming, almost jogging towards them, Dumbledore leading the way.

"Marco..." Dumbledore breathed out, stopping right before him, his eyes wide open and his hands grabbing him tightly by the arms. He could only look the young man in the eye, though he wanted to drag him all the way up to his office and have a long and deep conversation with him, but Karkaroff's grip on Marco's shoulders had became clearly stronger, as a remainder from the former Death Eater that his champion would not go anywhere without him by his side. "Mr. Riddle, if you please follow me, we need to have a word alone," he said, looking significantly at him over his half moon glasses. As they heard the surname, Cedric and Fleur rose from their seats, now even more confused as to what was happening around them.

"I don't think so, professor Dumbledore." Everyone had expected Karkaroff to deny Albus' request, but it was Marco who spoke up, his face plain hard while Karkaroff's showed a smirk, which looked like he was enjoying the situation, knowing Albus was desperate to speak to his student. "You may _need_ to speak, but I don't have anything to say to you, nor need to hear you out."

Dumbledore's face changed drastically. He no longer looked like the old headmaster of Hogwarts, concerned about talking to someone he had once believed dead; he now looked desperate, like his own life depended on saying just a few things to the boy in front of him, like he needed to do it right this time around.

"But I need to know what happened to you, Marco," Dumbledore tried again, shaking him slightly.

"I'm afraid, Albus, that Marco is old enough to understand what you want from him," Igor said softly, the attention now on him, "and he can choose whether listen to you or not. So I believe this conversation is over, and don't try anything on _my_ student Albus, because you won't be speaking to him as long as he doesn't want to." Of course, Karkaroff just like Albus knew that Marco would not change his mind, so his mockingly smirk grew even wider.

"Igor, you don't understand," Dumbledore said calmly, turning to Karkaroff, "it's essential that I speak to Marco. He needs to explain many things, like how did he survive when we thought him dead many years ago!" Dumbledore turned to the other two champions, Diggory and Delacour, who were now standing closer to them listening and trying to understand what was going on; when they realized they were caught, they looked anywhere but the old headmaster's eyes. Alastor's magical eye saw this, and he quickly and clumsily approached the two seventeen year olds and dragged them out of the room and into the Great Hall through the same wooden door they had came in. Dumbledore turned to Marco again. "Please, it's of outmost importance that you and I have a word alone in my office."

"You've heard him, Albus," Igor intervened, taking Marco away from Dumbledore and closer to him. "He does not want to speak to you, so he won't."

"Maybe you can enlighten us then," Severus spoke, bringing all the attention to him, even Marco's, who watched the potions professor with curiosity, "as to how did he ended up studying in the school of a Death Eater were Dark Arts are openly taught." The implication of what was being said didn't slip anyone in the room, as the Riddle name was absolutely stained with the dark arts; it appear to Marco, though, that Severus meant it was actually dangerous having him surrounded by such atmosphere.

"How dear you say that, Severus," Igor snapped, "when you are a Death Eater yourself. And please, Albus, do not tell me that excuse about his redemption and turning sides. I saw him kill and torture many muggle and muggle-borns before." Snape's eyes were still focused on Marco's face, but Karkaroff's words made him spun around to him, as well as everyone else in the room. "My student will compete, as we all know throwing your name into the Goblet of Fire means a magical contract that cannot be broken, isn't that right, Bartemius?" Barty Crouch looked at Karkaroff and could only nod; there was no turning back.

"Marco, I implore you, listen to me," Dumbledore tried again, but it was in vain.

"What do you want to say, professor Dumbledore?" Marco almost hissed; he was angry, but he tried not to show it, he tried to look good, teasing even. Silence feel upon the presents, Karkaroff's smirk faded, as they all listened carefully. "What do you want to ask? If I know something about him, about what's been going on? If I know something about the Death Eaters' attacks, or if I am one now?" Marco stepped away from Karkaroff's grip and closer to Dumbledore, and with a challenging look, pulled up his left sleeve, showing to everyone that there was nothing but clean, fair skin, no sign of a dark mark. "Because I'm not and I don't intend to turn into one in the near future." He looked around at the rest of the professors, no longer the calm and collected wizard who had confidenty walked through the Great Hall as everyone stared at him, the facade was slowly slipping away and there were now clear signs of anger in his no longer twinkling blue eyes. "My surname may be Riddle, but I'm not like Tom."_  
_

_Liar_, a taunting, little voice sing-songed inside his head.

"I've already told you, professor Dumbledore, that I don't have anything to say." The presents were left astonished once again. In that moment, though, Alastor burst into the room once again, his magical eye finding Marco at once while his normal eye fell upon Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore, you may want to keep this for another time," he said actually worried. "The Goblet of Fire gave us another name." Everyone turned to Alastor, Dumbledore's eyes wide open as he stared at his new Defense Against Dark Arts professor, his jaw clenched tightly as he had a clue of who they were talking about.

"Who?" he asked, only to make sure he was right, and hoping he was not.

"Harry Potter."


End file.
